Separate Worlds
by daygogurl
Summary: Hermione Granger returns to the British magical world to find people she knew drastically changed, namely one Ron Weasley. Is their relationship doomed, or will she find a new lease on life in someone else?
1. The-Row-That-Must-Not-Be-Named

A/N: Finally, a Ron/Hermione fic!! I've been trying to write one for the longest time and came up with absolute crapola each time. Mind you, this story is the result of reading too many Harlequin romances...gave up on that a while ago after discovering HP. Another reason why everyone should read the Harry Potter books.  
  
A/N #2: This chapter was revised with the help of my beta reader David, who totally rocks! Yeah. =)  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling (well, except for Robert Honeyduke...don't worry, he's not a Mary Sue, only plays a small yet crucial part in the story.) The premise is so overused in romance novels I don't know who to credit it to, so whatever. Anything other than that is 100% mine. M-I-N-E.  
  
  
  
"Good God, woman, it was only a kiss!" Ron Weasley yelled in frustration, banging his fist on the table. His unbuttoned dress shirt swayed a little, as if to dispute his claim.  
  
"A kiss? Is that was you call it?" Hermione Weasley retorted. "If I had come back a few minutes later, you'd both be in that bed!" She gesticulated madly towards the cramped room they had designated as their bedroom, chest heaving due to her rapid breathing. Her husband sat back in his chair, astonished.  
  
"Do you really believe that? Do you think that I'd stoop that low?"  
  
"What do you expect, Ron?!" She knew she was losing control of herself but didn't care at the moment. "If you came in and saw me making love with someone on the living room floor-"  
  
"We weren't making love!!!" He roared. He stood abruptly, running his hands agitatedly through his fiery red hair, mussing the neatly combed locks. "Why can't you get that through your head? I admit that kissing her was wrong, but I'd never cheat on you!" She looked up at him through angry slits of eyes and hair that, despite liberal application of Sleakeazy's Hair Tonic, began to curl into fluffiness.  
  
"I don't know if I can believe you."  
  
"Why not?" He asked, pacing the length of the living room, knocking over a glass of champagne that had been placed on the floor.  
  
"THIS is why not!" She answered hotly, referring to the wicker picnic basket, stocked with (very expensive) delicacies and the very expensive bottle of the aforementioned bubbly.  
  
"Look. I wasn't expecting her. She came over with all of this stuff, and well...I was missing you..."  
  
"I've only been gone for a week! A week and you can't control your libido?! You just HAD to press yourself to the nearest female, is that what you're saying?" He eyed her, evidently hurt, and answered, "No, that's not what I meant, I was trying to say-"  
  
"That's the trouble with you, Ron! You're always so confused! So immature!" She hurled at him, wishing he would just apologise and tell her that she was the most important thing in the world to him. She would forgive him, eventually. But Ron said none of these things as he warily crossed to her side of the floor and said,  
  
"Come on, 'Mione...go to bed. I'll clean everything up for you. You're making a mistake, honestly-" Livid with anger (his conciliatory words had only refuelled her temper), she interrupted him, "The only mistake I ever made was deciding to marry YOU." He opened and closed his mouth several times, apparently at a loss for words before finally saying,  
  
"That's a mistake we can easily correct." He strode towards the door, grabbing his cloak from the coat rack and slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Whew! Quite a row, wasn't it? (Notice I've been trying to get their linguistics right...they still sound kind of American, though). Next chapter: Will they get back together? Who was Ron cheating (Ron: I was NOT cheating, damnit!) with?...Please review! I need feedback!! And don't worry, Ron won't die or anything. Right, Ron? ::A snarling Ron lets out a string of profanities, ending with "Hell no.":: I'm also working on two other stories right now (Moonbeams-D/G, and Misconceptions-H/G), so I want reviews to see if there are people actually reading my story! Thanks! 


	2. In Which Fred and George Get Suspicious

A/N: I just want to get everything down before I forget it all! I really have high hopes for this story...I think it'll be good; I usually write a pretty good first chapter (see "Moonbeams") and then a not-so-good second one. But I promise this one will be good. Yeah. Okay.  
  
A/N #2: This chapter was also revised with the help of my (great, great, great) beta reader, David! Thanks!  
  
Disclaimer: If you're reading this chapter, I assume that you've read the other chapter. See that disclaimer.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Bloody...doesn't ever listen to me..." Ron muttered random fragments of angry sentences as he strode up the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. "Always accusing me…never trusts me with anything…" He could see the old, familiar buildings looming in the distance and he exhaled slowly. Fred and George might be there, as they had some meetings concerning Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He could just picture them: "Oh, has ickle Ronniekins pissed off his wifey?" He fumed silently. He didn't cheat on her. He didn't. He replayed the scenes of the night over and over in his head, wondering why on Earth he had let Fleur Delacour into their flat.  
  
They had kept in touch over the years; she had been in town and called on him with the intention of congratulating the newlyweds (he and Hermione had only been married for six months and she had been unable to attend the wedding). He had ended up telling her of his problems, as she was quite a sympathetic person once one got to know her, and she had guessed his feelings of incompetence surrounding his marriage. He guessed that bruised ego due to an argument with Hermione over the phone had made him susceptible to Fleur. He guessed that his self-esteem was now at an all- time low. She's always cutting me down, he thought.  
  
He had really done everything for her. He had even joined the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry (which was unfortunately lorded over by Percy) when all he wanted to do was work with Fred and George at their shop. They even lived in Muggle London, in a flat complete with television and cordless phone. He came to a stop in the vicinity of a moneyed country community, built mostly for rich city people and vacationers to live in during the summer. He scanned the numbers of the cottages slowly, ringing the doorbell at number 612. He hoped someone was home; it was getting dark. The door opened, and a figure with sweeping blonde hair smiled at him.  
  
"Bonjour, Ron." He smiled back half-heartedly,  
  
"Hello." She guessed his problem immediately, saying,  
  
"Would you like to stay here for the night?"  
  
"Yeah, thanks." He stepped in and closed the door behind him, not noticing the pair of redheads who were gawking at him from the doorway of the Three Broomsticks.  
  
Hermione closed her textbook with a dull thud. Cracking her knuckles, she carefully rolled up the bit of parchment she had been working on. She was studying to be a mediwitch, and had been accepted into the most prestigious wizarding college in England. She had a "study abroad" offer from an American wizarding college, and she didn't doubt that it would be immensely educational, culturally and medically. Some of the freshest new spells and charms came from American hospitals. But…she sighed. She didn't want to leave Ron. She shook her head impatiently, not wanting to think of that problem right now. He'd come back, she rationalised, and they'd reconcile somehow. She didn't want to overlook Ron's shenanigans, but when it came down to it they really did love each other. She was sure that he would apologize and that, sooner or later, everything would get back to normal. It happened every time they argued.  
  
Satisfied with her logic, she put her books away and turned on the television, ready and waiting for a subdued Ron Weasley to burst through the door. But nine o'clock turned to ten, and ten turned to eleven with no trace of her husband. Damn him, she thought. If he thinks he can show up this late and expect me to be waiting for him…she stomped over to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Despite her best efforts, she lay awake most of the night worried about Ron. Tossing and turning, Hermione managed to get a few hours' rest before an owl pelted her with a copy of the Daily Prophet, which was her signal to get up.  
  
She changed into her robes and tossed the paper carelessly onto the nightstand. She was just about to leave when a smart knocking resounded throughout the tiny flat. Finally, she thought. Rushing to the door, she yanked it open only to discover not Ron, but two other Weasleys she'd gotten to know and love. "Oh! Hello Fred, George. What brings you around here?" They smiled back at her, yet their tones were subdued as they answered,  
  
"We need to talk to you." Curious, she led them into the kitchen.  
  
"Coffee?"  
  
"No, thanks." Fred shifted uncomfortably in his seat as George asked, "Don't mean to be nosy, Hermione, but did you and Ron have a row last night?"  
  
"Yes," she answered. Instantly she was on the defensive. "Did he tell you why, though? I came in and saw him passionately kissing Fleur, and I-"  
  
"Wait," George stopped her mid-sentence. "He was kissing Fleur?"  
  
"Yes," she answered moodily, toying with her cup. "Why?"  
  
"Well, erm…" Fred avoided her gaze carefully. "We sort of…saw him at some girl's flat yesterday…and…he didn't come back, did he?" His voice held a slim note of hope, but it was soon quenched by her furious gaze.  
  
"No, he didn't." she eyed them both searchingly. They were serious. "Did you happen to get the apartment number?" She asked casually. The twins looked at each other worriedly.  
  
"Yes, but…"  
  
"But what? Haven't I a right to know where and-" her voice shook with suppressed anger "with whom my own husband is staying with?" George dug a corner of parchment out of his pocket and handed it to her, saying,  
  
"Here then. But…don't hurt anyone, Hermione." Fred smirked,  
  
"Besides Ron." She glanced from the parchment up to them and said,  
  
"Thanks. I mean it." Giving them a very forced smile, she let them out. Then she went out to the garden and dissaparated.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Aagh! Cliffhanger…sorta. Don't worry, all is not as it seems! In the meantime (and in between time) please review! Thanks. 


	3. Telephone Conversations

A/N: Sorry about the wait…problems with writer's block. I think I'll only be able to update once a week b/c of school (midterms are coming up and I really have to study) but I'll try to get it done. I hate waiting for stories to be updated, so yeah.  
  
A/N #2: This chapter was also revised with the help of my awesome beta reader David! Thanks so much, dude! Most of the stuff I changed was stuff that was too American or didn't fit in with canon descriptions (i.e. apartments in Hogsmeade) so yeah.  
  
Disclaimer: See disclaimer on chapter one (too lazy to type it up).  
  
  
  
  
  
If anyone asked Hermione how she managed to get to Hogsmeade without trembling so much that she fell into little pieces, she wouldn't have be able to tell them. Maybe it was because she WAS trembling so much she felt as if she would fall into pieces. Her boots crunched on the paved roads, the only sound for miles as she entered the more quaint country areas of the village. The area described by Fred and George loomed ahead in the distance. It was designed to look like a plain cluster of cottages, but the expensive tiling on the paths, the occaisional gardener watering the front yard and the Aston Martins and Jaguars parked next to the homes (used by some richer witches and wizards for pure amusement; others, because their jobs often brought them in contact with Muggles) identified it as an extremely rich neighborhood . She glanced at the slip of parchment in her hand and spotted the corresponding building, set a little back from the others by the very French shrubbery surrounding it.  
  
She gulped, feeling strangely nervous. What would she find when she got there? Ron and some woman on the sofa, limbs entangled in tired sleep? She certainly hoped not - for Ron's sake as well as hers. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. If worst came to worst, she would quickly and quietly divorce him and...and...and what? She couldn't completely shut him out of her life; he had been her friend since that day, long-ago that he and Harry had saved her from the troll in the girls' toilets. She didn't think she would ever get over him if they ever separated.  
  
She realised that she was stalling, and hurriedly rang the doorbell. She heard footsteps approaching and tried her best to gain some composure.  
  
" 'Ello...Oh!" A very surprised Fleur Delacour stared at Hermione in shock. "What are you doing here?" Hermione took in Fleur's appearance: Her usually immaculate hair was dishevelled, she was barefoot and was wearing what was unmistakably a man's button-down shirt and absolutely nothing else. She was temporarily at a loss for words, but soon blurted out:  
  
"Is Ron here?" She tilted her head to the side quizzically.  
  
"Mais non, 'e is at ze Burrow."  
  
"But didn't he stay here last night?" At this her face changed, a dawn of understanding changing her features.  
  
"Well, of course! After you drove him out of ze house, what do you expect?" Hermione's mouth dropped open in disbelief. He had told her, actually told her about their argument when she was the cause of it! He had obviously spent the night being consoled by this…this…she mouthed words soundlessly before turning abruptly and storming away from Fleur Delacour and her rich little flat, away from the apartments, and back to her home.  
  
She could barely see where she was going. Her eyes blurred by tears she refused to shed, she tried to make her way home. When she tried to Apparate, she landed several miles west of her home. She sighed and trudged slowly to the underground, paying for her ticket listlessly. She took a seat closest to the door and leaned back, her eyes boring into the bright flourescent lights in an effort to divert her attention. It didn't work, as the same thought whirled over and over in her mind as she rode the underground back into Muggle London.  
  
He cheated on me. She knew, just knew, that it just was too good to last. They had struck out on their own and she had finally managed to get Ron a good job. They were madly in love, or so she thought. Obviously she wasn't good enough for him. All the doubts she had harboured about being a wife, all the insecurities about her appearance, her personality…they all came back and threatened to overwhelm her.  
  
She finally stumbled to the front door of the apartment, swearing as the realised she had forgotten her keys. She whispered "Alohomora," and heard the lock click. She threw her cloak onto a chair and rushed to the kitchen, eager for something strong enough to make her forget, at least for the time. As she poured herself a rather large drink, the sharp jangling of the telephone made the bottle of liquor jerk out of her hands. She waved her wand at the fast-falling bottle catching it in mid-air just before it fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand sparkling, liquor-soaked pieces. Muttering menacingly, she grabbed the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hermione?" The voice on the other line was the last person she wanted to hear from right now.  
  
"What is it, Ron?" Her tone was sharp and cold and she clutched the phone with a death-like grip.  
  
"Didn't you get my message?" She looked down at the receiver and saw that the message button was blinking. "Dad's had some heart trouble. He's at St. Mungo's right now." The crackling tone of his voice was due partly to his worry concerning his father and the fact that he was talking on a mobile phone.  
  
Hermione's anger melted away, replaced with concern. Arthur Weasley was the benevolent head of the Weasley family, peacefully coexisting with his wife and amusedly watching his children grow up and (some of them, anyway) start families of their own, each as unruly as they themselves had been. It truly grieved her to know of his condition. She pressed the message button, ready to delete it when she noticed the time and date he left it on.  
  
"When did you leave the message? I would have came right away if I had known."  
  
"I was owled at around five this morning. What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Fred and George told me where you were."  
  
"Why didn't you just call me there?" The gall of him! She was about to say something extremely nasty and hang up, but she remember Arthur and forced herself to calm down.  
  
"Actually, I went there." Silence. "Couldn't keep away, could you?" The phone was muffled for a minute before Ron spoke again. His voice shook with…anger, sadness?  
  
"Bloody Hell, Hermione…" She interrupted him hastily, saying,  
  
"I don't want to hear it. Please tell your dad I hope he gets better soon."  
  
"Does that mean you're not coming here?" She took a hasty gulp of her drink to give her courage, then said,  
  
"I can't…I'm going to America." The study offer. Now that she had said it, was she really going to leave?  
  
"Why? Is it because of Fleur? If it is, you're absolutely crazy." It was at that moment that Hermione exploded.  
  
"Crazy, am I? Then why did the number one Magical Medical University in the America, no, in the world choose me for their study-abroad program?" Violent swearing commenced on the other end of the line.  
  
"You were looking for a way to get to America ever since you got that damned offer! If that's what you want, then…just GO!" The phone was savagely hung up and she looked at it disbelievingly before throwing it down onto the floor, not particularly caring if it broke apart. Then she ran to the bedroom and threw herself onto the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, so the ending was a little dramatic. I realise that Hermione isn't this insecure in the books, but she's so strong in canon that I think she must be really vulnerable once she opens up. Next chapter details Hermione's sojurn in the States (it's definitely not the cliché exchange student thing, believe me) and we meet someone totally unexpected that may just (gasp!) capture Hermione's heart! Melodrama at its cheesiest! LOL. BTW, I know I overexagerrated Fleur's accent, but whatever. I also realise that this chapter is a bit longer than usual…I just got carried away =). Please review, either by clicking the long box in the left hand corner or (even better) e-mailing me!! I just love reviews ::schnoogles all the reviewers:: Tee hee! Thanks!!!! 


	4. Seamus Finnigan? WTF?

A/N: I've struggled with how to write this chapter, so it's pretty bad. And as I've never been to a medical school, some of the descriptions might a little off...so to any medicine-types, I apologize profusely =)  
  
Disclaimer: I am the amazing J.K. Rowling, so I don't need a disclaimer. Bow down and worship me...Just kidding. These are all her characters.  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione stared out of the window of the room, watching the dying sun emit its last spurt of sunlight, the orange rays setting a warm tint over everything. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and, putting her reading glasses back on, turned her attention back to the enormous textbook in front of her, flipping to a page flagged with a blue tag sticking out from the pages. She had been here for...oh, maybe two, three hours. The library was always open and consequently became one of Hermione's favourite haunts. She had made friends during her years at the Boston Wizarding School of Medicine, but none had the same ardour concerning their studies as she did, and so she was here again - alone.  
  
She sighed and buried her head in the book as another student flounced in, holding a thin notebook, what looked like a Muggle Calculator, and some textbooks. Business? She thought, scanning the cover of the book, perplexed. She shrugged and scribbled a heading on top of a fresh sheet of parchment, twirling the quill between her fingers as she thought of an introductory paragraph that wasn't too short, yet showed a prior knowledge of the topic.  
  
The door flew open again and more students came in, some still in their blue trainee scrubs, all intent on doing some last-minute cramming before finals. Her eyes were caught by one of them. He was very obviously a Freshman, the bright-eyed, naive look in his eyes still shining through. But that wasn't what caught her. It was the lopsided, teasing grin he gave his study partner, a curly-haired, slender little blonde. She glared at him and pointed to some sentence in her notes, obviously telling him off. He just laughed at her and removed his wizard's hat, which hid his (Hermione gasped in surprise) carroty-red hair. He ran a hand through it and began sneaking furtive glances at his friend's notes. Hermione forced her eyes away from the pair reluctantly. He's just too distracted for his own good, she thought. But that's what's so endearing about people like him...like Ron. She hadn't thought about Ron in a long time, too drained by her studies to think of anything before falling into bed exhausted at night. She thought of him now, wandering through the catalogue of memories that she had shoved into the furthermost reaches of her mind as soon as she had arrived in Massachusetts.  
  
After the first two years, she had debated on whether or not to return to England and try to salvage what she could of her marriage, sending Ron a somewhat standoffish letter. His stilted reply stated that yes, he was fine and so was his family, and no, he wasn't planning to divorce her anytime soon. If she wanted a divorce, she could go and file the papers herself. She had flung the letter down in a rage. If she had to, she could cite Fleur. And it would be over. But, seeing as no one she had dated at the University was enough to warrant a divorce, she just left things as they were.  
  
After the second two years, the mental picture of Ron she carried around with her began to get blurry; after the fifth year, it had faded almost to nothing. Hermione was now on the verge of graduating. The two years she had spent studying Medicine in England were more than enough to qualify her for medical school, and she was now on the verge of becoming a fully-fledged MediWitch at the tender age of twenty-five. It was the first time someone had graduated that young in the University's history. Shaking herself out of the contemplative mood she had been in, she regarded her half-done essay with a sigh. She'd finish it tomorrow. After all, it was due next month. As she gathered up all of her things, Hermione couldn't help but notice the two freshmen getting up to leave as well. She was so engrossed in their all- too-familiar row that she didn't notice the other student on the way out.  
  
"Ouch!" As she tripped over his feet, he dropped his calculator and books. The Muggle machine split in half, microchips springing out. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" He stooped to pick up his ruined calculator and books, his sandy hair falling over his eyes. There was something so familiar about him...  
  
"It's fine, Hermione." The (she couldn't help but notice) handsome young man in front of her smiled. Her eyes widened in surprise. How...  
  
"How do you know my name?" He gestured to the winter scarf tied around his neck. Red and gold. "You..." She cocked her head to the side quizzically. The hair, it was something about his hair, and the accent. "You're..."  
  
"Seamus. Seamus Finnigan."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Gasp! I know what you're all thinking. Seamus Finnigan? What the hell? Wait and see ::evil laugh::…REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW…ah, you get it already. 


	5. Pancake Flirtation

A/N: I noticed a lot of people commenting on how Hermione and Seamus shouldn't get together, and that I should fix things with Ron, etc., etc., but: sniffs dramatically: I'm sorry…it has to happen. Don't worry, I'm an R/Hr shipper through and through…I'll leave it at that. =)  
  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's.  
  
  
  
  
  
"So what brought you to Boston?" At Seamus' question, Hermione looked up from her pancakes, which had been smothered with too much syrup to be any good.  
  
"Well, the University offered to sponsor me if I studied with them, so I decided to take them up on the offer. It's been quite interesting; not only do I get to work with some of the most skilled MediWizards and MediWitches in the world, but I can do a little sociology work on the side and see how Americans live." His mouth turned up into a sarcastic little smile.  
  
"Americans, eh? It takes a lot of time to get used to them…didn't help that when I first got here, they couldn't understand a word I was saying…not that I could understand them either, with the Boston accent and all."  
  
"Oh, yes…linguistics, I forgot." She laughed. "That's why your accent's so subdued, then?"  
  
"Yeah. Had to communicate somehow." His eyes, brown with flecks of the same sandy quality of his hair, warmed and brightened as he sat back and regarded her. She stopped laughing.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. Aren't I allowed to sit back and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman on a Saturday morning?" She blushed. Compliments weren't…  
  
"Compliments aren't something I'm used to," She blurted out.  
  
"Really? I ought to give them to you more often, then." He took a swig of orange juice. "Don't like your breakfast?"  
  
She looked back down at her now decimated pancakes. "Not particularly. Too much syrup."  
  
"Still, that's no reason to stab them mercilessly; they didn't do anything to you." Her moment of discomfort was replaced with amusement at his well- timed joke. "You have something in your hair."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Right there, near…Never mind, I'll get it." Before she could stop him, Seamus had reached over and gently pulled something (it turned out to be a bit of pancake) out from the hair behind her ear. Hermione had to shiver in spite of herself. "Cold?"  
  
"No, it's just…" She trailed off. "That's a sensitive spot."  
  
He grinned cheekily. "I'll keep that in mind."  
  
"Seamus!"  
  
"Kidding, I'm just kidding."  
  
"So…what are you doing in Boston?"  
  
"Well…I just majored in Business at Harvard University." She raised an eyebrow.  
  
"A Muggle school?"  
  
"Yeah…they usually have better Business programs than the wizarding ones, since they have to get on without magic." He speared a bit of scrambled egg on the end of his fork. "And since I'm already running a business, it was no sweat."  
  
"Running a business? Really?" Seamus looked amused at her tone of voice.  
  
"You needn't sound so surprised, Hermione…I WAS a Prefect, after all." She offered him a teasing smirk.  
  
"I apologize to the almighty business entrepreneur, Seamus Finnigan."  
  
"No worries," He answered mock-pompously. That earned him a light punch on the arm. "Ouch. Anyway, I took over a business a while ago, and I didn't know if I could keep it afloat, so I began taking courses. Not that Zonko's needed any help selling things-"  
  
Hermione stopped him mid-sentence. "Zonko's? As in Hogsmeade's premiere joke shop?"  
  
"None other. My grandfather used to own it, and since my mum didn't want to take on the job, I decided to step in for her."  
  
"Wow, Seamus! That's…" She struggled for the right words to say, "That's amazing!" He grinned, a little embarrassed.  
  
"Well…" He shrugged and deftly changed the subject. "So I hear you're graduating soon."  
  
She nodded. "Yeah. Next week, actually."  
  
"Am I invited?" The way he looked at her from across the table made her heart thump painfully, as if it hadn't properly done so in a long time.  
  
"Of course, I'd love for you to come." She reached over to aim another playful punch, but this time his hand caught hers.  
  
"Great. What time should I get there?" She didn't answer right away, as Seamus laced his fingers through hers. "Hermione?"  
  
"Oh, erm…the ceremony starts at two. I'll leave it up to you as to how early you want to be." His hand was warm. Not sweaty, just a warm feeling that made her palm tingle.  
  
"All right then." She knew she was blushing furiously. Seamus let go of her hand, and she felt a little put out. "Check, please." Oh. She dug into her purse for her pocketbook. "It's my treat, you don't have to pay."  
  
"It's not the 1800's anymore, Seamus. I'm a modern woman and I can afford to pay." He made a motion as to wave it away.  
  
"I never said you couldn't. I'm doing it because I want to," He slipped some Muggle money under the bill. "You can pay the tip, though."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "That's barely five…of these things." She waved a one- dollar bill around. Nevertheless, she plunked the money down under her coffee cup.  
  
As they got up to leave the restaurant, she felt him grasp her hand again. She hadn't done this type of thing in a long time. Not since Ron…  
  
"Don't think about it," She muttered.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Nothing…my…" He glanced at her sideways. "My husband."  
  
His eyes flicked to her free hand. "No ring though?"  
  
"No, Ron and I have been separated for a long time now."  
  
"Ron Weasley...I always thought he was a little…off his rocker."  
  
Her first instinct was to come to his defence. "Well, he just-" Amidst the crowd of people bustling to and fro, a girl with long, blonde hair narrowly missed bumping into Hermione. "He was. He WAS off his rocker."  
  
"I suppose he was, letting you go." He became serious for a while, and Hermione quailed under his gaze.  
  
"I can't say I'm not flattered by this, Seamus, but we've known each other- "  
  
"Since we were eleven. There was always Ron or Harry for you to be with, and I couldn't compete with that. But now…"  
  
"Things are different."  
  
He laughed softly, a different laugh from the one in the restaurant. "See, we're already finishing each other's sentences."  
  
She still thought he was being a bit forward, but dismissed it. It was so nice to just talk with someone like this; she was getting lonely. After a few moments of companionable silence, they arrived at Hermione's student apartment. "Thanks for breakfast."  
  
"Anytime." She found herself looking at her shoes. I feel like I'm on my first date, she thought scathingly. She felt something swish back from her cheek, and looked up to see Seamus tucking a few errant curls of hair behind her ear. "When will I see you again?"  
  
"At graduation."  
  
"And after that?"  
  
"I'll have to check my schedule."  
  
He gave her that grin again. "Is that a polite way of saying no?"  
  
"It's a polite way of telling you that I have to check my schedule."  
  
He raised both hands in concession. "Alright. I'll see you later, Hermione." He winked at her roguishly before Disapparating. She let herself into the house, leaning against the wall next to her door as soon as she got in.  
  
Seamus Finnigan. Attracted to her.  
  
But did she like him?  
  
His engagingly forward manner must gain a lot of female attention, she thought wryly. His style was as different from Ron's as black and white.  
  
"Which is probably why I'm going to say yes if he asks me to dinner next week."  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Herm/Seamus fluff. Wasn't so bad. It had to be done, I'm sorry! Next chapter: Hermione gets a job that brings her back to England…and Ron? Yes, no, maybe so…hmm…want to find out? Reviews are the key. I want more reviews, please! I am a glutton for praise. So anyone who reads the story w/out reviewing it is really evil and pathetic and…yeah. So please review!!!!!! Thanks. 


	6. A Quick Synopsis of Graduation

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's, except for the plot.  
  
Hermione shook her (now straightened) hair back from her face, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror closely. She put her graduation cap on, tilting her head this way and that, the tassel swishing back and forth slightly. Running her fingers over her gown nervously, she put her honours medallion on over everything and stepped into the waiting queue. She watched people step up to the platform one by one as their names were called, their robes slowly changing from blue to white and back to blue again. Her ears pricked up at "George Filzenze." She could see the immense crowd that had gathered to watch, their whoops and whistles loudest among the cheers. "Stephen Gourney!" She was next. Wringing her hands in a sort of nervous state, she scanned the crowd for her parents.  
  
What is wrong with me? I'm never this nervous...You would think I was a bride on her wedding...oh, that isn't helping. I wish...I wish Harry was here, and...Ron.  
  
"Hermione Granger!" Shaken out of her reverie, Hermione took a deep breath and walked out onto the platform. She could see her parents now, snapping pictures with a Muggle camera. And a few seats away...Seamus. He gave a sort of half-wave and she waved back uncertainly. Her diploma was placed in her hand, the Headmaster, Dr. Mark E. Surgrose, shook her hand heartily. "One of our top students!" He beamed at her and she smiled weakly for the wizard photographer.  
  
"Great job, that's my girl." She settled in between her parents, her father unrolling the diploma curiously.  
  
"How did you get your hair so smooth and shiny?" Her mother asked. She was always curious about the wizarding world, particularly when it came to cosmetics.  
  
"Oh, a Hair Potion." She looked up as Coral Biello, a friend of hers, approached them.  
  
"Hermione! Aren't you glad we're finally out of this place? No more homework, no more tests, no more Bubotuber pus...I got covered in boils twice trying to dilute it...vile, stinky..."  
  
"But Coral, you'll have to use Bubotuber pus all the time...didn't you major in Dermatology?" Her face fell.  
  
"Damn it." She looked quite sad for a moment. "But that's okay, I've already been hired! Teen Witch magazine needs a columnist for tips on keeping a `fresh face', whatever that means...I told them I'd take the job."  
  
"That's great! I, on the other hand, have no idea where I'll get a job."  
  
"I could hire you." Both girls looked up as Seamus approached them, hands in the pockets of his merino wool slacks. Coral quite blatantly gave him the once over.  
  
"Seamus, I really appreciate it, but why would a joke shop need a MediWitch?" Her father interrupted her, saying,  
  
"Actually, joke shops would need medical staff to test the safety of their products, as well as for research purposes. Particularly as there's magic involved."  
  
Coral glanced from Hermione to Seamus and back again. "Oh, Hermione, that would be great for you! You're so into the research and all, and you'd be able to lighten up around all those joke products." She grinned slyly. "Plus you get to hang around this guy."  
  
The aforementioned Guy suddenly became very interested in a loose thread of the dress robes he was wearing and pretended not to hear.  
  
"Coral, you're terrible." She turned back to Seamus, intrigued. "And what would this job entail?"  
  
Suddenly he was very business-like. "Well, like your father said-" Dr. Granger looked extremely gratified, "You'd mostly do research and chemical stuff; you'd have a whole team under you, so they can do all of the actual tests...unless you want to do them, of course. Hours: not that demanding...actually not demanding at all. Work on your own prerogative. Pay's great though."  
  
She mulled it over. "Anything else?"  
  
"Well, there is one hitch. Our headquarters are in Diagon Alley, so you'd have to move back home."  
  
Hermione's mother broke in, saying, "That would be wonderful! We really have missed you, dear...do come home."  
  
Hermione felt somewhat trapped. "I...well..." She finished weakly. "I suppose."  
  
Her parents beamed.  
  
*****  
  
"Dr. Granger, I'm Gray Berklin. I'll be helping you with the research on ingredients, side effects and things like that. That woman over there is Eliza Crenshaw; she'll be doing most of the chemical work with you. The room over there is the test lab; you'll be watching over if there are any side effects to our test subject-"  
  
"There almost always are," Dr. Crenshaw interrupted,  
  
"And that's it basically. Any questions?"  
  
"No, thank you." Hermione answered. "And do call me Hermione."  
  
"Hermione it is then. I hate to do this to you on the first day of the job, but we will have to get started. We are rather behind on research." He summoned a stack of expandable files. "We'll have to sort through this."  
  
She picked up a set of files, and began her work.  
  
A few hours later, neck and eyes sore from reading, Hermione sat cross-legged in the living room of her new apartment. The cream tones had a calming effect on her frazzled nerves. A carton of Chinese take-away sat on the coffee table, chopsticks stuck into the noodles; the television was on.  
  
"And in our economic report, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has reported a 50% uptake in stock; the shops, which have slowly spread across Europe, are a popular destination for people interested in the more humorous side of the occult. It has enjoyed increased popularity...most interesting." The newscaster brandished an obviously fake wand (pink with a poof ball at the end) at the anchor. "I'd zap you with this, I really would."  
  
Hermione suppressed a giggle. Most successful wizarding companies had Muggle branches connected to them, complete with Muggle bank accounts and Muggle security measures. She just didn't think the Wheezes were one of those companies.  
  
She wondered if Ron had joined the family business. She knew he had wanted to, but as the company looked shaky at the time, Hermione had gotten him a job at the Ministry. Obviously Fred or George had got some sense knocked into them and finally got to work.  
  
She wondered if Ron was still seeing Fleur.  
  
Hermione took those thoughts to bed with her that night; she could see Ron in her mind's eye much more acutely now: the light sprinkling of freckles, his stylishly short hair, forever messy, cleanly cut facial features, the captivating blue eyes that had enthralled her from their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. She could still remember the first thing she said to him directly:  
  
"By the way, you've got dirt on your nose, did you know?" She shook her head at that now as she slipped under the covers. The phone began to ring, but she stayed where she was, lulled by sleep, reassured by the answering machine.  
  
"Hermione, this is Seamus. I was wondering if you'd like to go out Saturday night...I'll be waiting for your call. Goodbye."  
  
She had to smile. She filled her thoughts with Seamus as she tried to go to sleep, but her dreams...  
  
Her dreams held Ron. Dreams of being held and being loved, deep conversations and joking spats, secret smiles and passionate kisses. She shivered at the thought. Lovemaking was always so sensual, yet so fierce between them. And it was never just sex. Always making love.  
  
This isn't getting you anywhere, she thought. Your marriage is over, Hermione.  
  
She felt sick at the very thought. It had always been in the back of her mind, not something to think about. But what now? She had finished school, was back in England. She still loved-No, not love. It's lust, she told herself. I'm a grown young woman and Ron is just another young man I was attracted to.  
  
It's not like I'm still in love with him...am I?  
  
A/N: Hmm...What next? Review, review, review. 


	7. The Trouble With Ron

A/N: Okay, sorry for this...this is a little aside I forgot I had written before I posted the other chapter up, so yeah. It still goes with the flow of the story though, and it should answer any questions you all have concerning Ron. Oh, and thanks SO much to everyone who's been reviewing. I really like (love is a strong word) you all!!!  
  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling, blah blah blah, and copyrighted characters, blah blah, and don't sue me, blah blah blah blah.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron Weasley undid his tie hurriedly, striding into the bedroom of his home. It was a new acquirement, located in Knightsbridge. The room he was in now had been tastefully decorated in dark blue and green tones.  
  
The interior designer really knew what she was doing, thought Ron. This was actually only the third or fourth time he had been here, as he was away on business a lot of the time. He undid the buttons of his shirt, letting it drop to the thickly carpeted floor. That's what House Elves are for. Why else would I pay them? He smiled wryly. Paying the House-Elves was suggested by Hermione, of course. Seeing as Ginny was head of the Department of Magical Creatures, she took Hermione's suggestion seriously. The law requiring payment and insurance benefits for House-Elves had been passed some time later. Ron sighed impatiently, rummaging in his closet. Sometime later he emerged with a new set of robes (Gladrags Exclusive Men's Collection). He stepped into the bathroom, heading towards the shower. At the sound of his footsteps, warm water began to run, a thin waft of steam wafting out. He stepped into the spray reluctantly.  
  
Ron was supposed to meet Fred and Angelina for dinner at their home. He really didn't want to go, considering the circumstances. He absentmindedly slid his wedding ring off his finger, placing it carefully in the corner of the soap dish. The lighter skin under the ring was a silent testament to Ron's reluctance to accept what had happened between him and Hermione. They were still married, after all. He ran his hand over a soap-slicked abdomen, not really wanting to finish the shower and get ready for another night out. The hardened muscles didn't share his sentiments, and they were clean after a few half-hearted scrubs. I want to stay home tonight…don't want to share this day with anyone else. Ron scrubbed at his head, rinsing off any remaining shampoo. He stepped out of the shower and it clicked off immediately. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he tugged on his robes and gelled his hair. Staring into the mirror critically, he twisted his ring around slowly and regarded his features.  
  
Most of his freckles were gone; a light sprinkling of them still showed up on the bridge of his nose but that was all. The carroty-red Weasley locks he had always sported had been bleached by the sun, fading a bit. Ron frowned at this, making a mental note to stop spending so much time in California. He didn't think he looked much like himself. Boyish features had filled out, chiselled by life's hardships. Ignoring the stubble still dotting his chin, Ron grabbed his wand from the dresser top and Apparated to Fred and Angelina's.  
  
  
  
"Ron! How are you...What happened to your hair?" A sniggering Fred Weasley surveyed his younger brother mock-critically. "Not many freckles left…hair DEFINITELY not its right colour…have you been working out?"  
  
"Leave him alone, Fred." Angelina poked her head out of the kitchen, where the sound of bubbling liquid could be heard. A mouth-watering smell emanated from the modest room, causing a loud growl to rumble out from someone's stomach.  
  
"Was that you or me?" George popped into the living room, a large box under one arm. "Oh, and the File Trays have come in." An evil grin split his face as Katie Bell-Weasley appeared behind him. "We sent samples to Ginny and Percy…unmarked, of course." He spotted Ron. "What happened to your hair?"  
  
"I think it looks good," Katie smiled and sank into a seat next to his. She placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. "I'd like this little one's hair to look like that…but then again, I always did have a thing for redheads."  
  
"Did you, now?" Ron guffawed at Fred's suggestive advances. He wiggled his eyebrows, much to George's chagrin. "You never told me…"  
  
"Angelina!"  
  
"Cut it out, both of you." Trays of food preceded her, landing on the table with a soft bump. "Get the kids, would you, Fred?"  
  
"KIDS!!" A great clattering noise sounded as the two Johnson-Weasleys ran down the stairs and into the dining room. Hayley and David, the next generation of twins, were a study in opposites. Hayley was bookish and outgoing; David was athletic yet bashful. The five-year-olds settled into the shorter-legged chairs, charmed so that they could sit and still reach the table. Hayley giggled delightedly as the legs stretched upwards until they were the size of the others. As the food was doled out, Ron watched his niece and nephew, oblivious to the concerned glances sent his way. After the kids were sent to bed and the adults indulged in a little drink, conversation turned towards him directly.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Katie sat next to him on the squashy sofa, soft grey eyes meeting guarded, almost defiant cobalt blue ones.  
  
"Not really." Ron stared into his glass broodingly. "Well…sort of."  
  
"What is it?" She asked gently. "I don't want to pry, but-"  
  
"It's our anniversary." He sat back in his seat, setting the drink down and twisting his wedding band. The act was unconscious for him, sort of a comfort gesture. "Another one I have to spend alone."  
  
Fred turned abruptly from his position. He had been (pretending) to adjust the picture frames on the low table situated next to the recliner. "Ron, I know its only been five…six years now, but you have to get yourself together. You can't continue like this."  
  
"What do you mean? I'm doing fine. I'm helping you two out with the Wheezes, got myself a pretty decent place to live, managed to make a bit of money-"  
  
"There's more to life than that," George commented.  
  
"So much more…" added Angelina.  
  
"Are you all ganging up on me now?" Ron eyed them critically. "Look, I said I'm fine."  
  
Judging by the looks on their faces they didn't believe him. The rest of the night passed by with delicate avoidance of the topic, and Ron was able to Floo home in peace.  
  
Once at his flat, Ron shut himself up in his bedroom. He could hear the soft footsteps of his House-Elf cleaning up on the stairs and he stuck his head out of the door.  
  
"You can take the rest of the week off, Blinken." The elf looked surprised.  
  
"Master is sure he don't need Blinken?"  
  
"Yeah…I'll be fine, thanks."  
  
"So generous! So kind! I is so grateful, sir! Blinken go now." He bowed over and over as he made his way downstairs, maroon bathrobe trailing behind him. Ron re-shut the door. He ran agitated hands through his hair. Glimpsing the flash of wedding ring on his hand, he glanced at his reflection, now looking weary and haggard. He pulled off the ring, throwing it in a desk drawer. He then turned and ripped off anything with the remotest connection to his estranged wife. After an hour, there was a mound of artwork and photographs on the floor of the living room. There was only one thing left. Grabbing the snapshot of their wedding day set on the mantelpiece, he moved to toss it on top of the pile. It was a silver frame, the photo set in sepia tones. A smiling Ron had his arms around his wife's waist. They were oblivious to anyone around them, the first dance of the reception starting up. Hermione's face was tinged with pink, hair done up in an elegant bun. Her arms were twined around her husband's neck. Ron watched himself kiss his new bride, both glowing in sublime happiness. With an impatient gesture, he kept it with him as he banished the rest to the cellar. He placed it in the drawer of his Muggle entertainment centre, taking one last glimpse of the woman he thought would be his forever.  
  
"Happy anniversary."  
  
  
  
A/N: Please review!! 


	8. Reunited

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. There's a bit of the chapter that's based on a book by Roberta Leigh, so expect lots of over- melodramatic feelings.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Thanks for dinner…I had a good time."  
  
"You're very welcome." Hermione was once again staring at her feet, with Seamus standing before her at the door. "Listen, there's something I want to ask…" Her mouth became very dry. "Want to get married?" She gaped. And gaped again.  
  
"Wh-what?" For the past few months, Hermione had been trying to make some sense of her feelings. Seamus was a very handsome man, witty, intellectual, and dependable. She had been content to date him while she worked at Zonko's, Inc. She liked him, obviously, but she didn't know if she could imagine herself as his wife; As anyone's wife but Ron's.  
  
"I'm already married."  
  
"You could very easily file for a divorce; you've been separated for years now."  
  
She wrung her hands desperately. "Yes, but…"  
  
"Don't tell me you're still in love with him? Or do you not care for me enough?"  
  
"Would you believe that I'm scared?" She replied, not answering either question. "I don't want to get burned again."  
  
His eyes bored into hers, and she had the most uncomfortable feeling that he was trying to decipher her reply. "I wouldn't do that. I know it's a little soon, but I know that I'd love to spend the rest of my life with you." He reached out to stroke her cheek, and she just barely managed to hide the flinch threatening to splash across her face.  
  
"I'll think about it, I promise." Hermione smiled at him as she opened the door. "I'll be at work tomorrow though, so don't try to call here."  
  
"Alright. Good night." Seamus leaned forward and kissed her. There was no forewarning, no explanation. A soft, delicate kiss…  
  
Hermione found she didn't quite like it. "Goodnight, Seamus." She closed the door behind her, a little disappointed.  
  
*********  
  
Her mind was still in shock over Seamus' sudden proposal as she stepped into her office the next morning.  
  
"Dr. Granger. Er …Hermione?" Eliza ventured.  
  
"Yes?" The woman slowly entered the room, levitating a small suitcase and cauldron behind her.  
  
"I apologize for this, but Weasley's Wizard Wheezes asked us to do some research on Wolfsbane for an antidote to their newest product…and we all know who the Medicinal Potions master is here." Her head jerked up in surprise.  
  
"Don't they have their own Medical staff?" Eliza gave her an indulgent look.  
  
"Yes, but our specialty is in concocting antidotes to potentially embarrassing products… and they usually don't make those. So our rival companies help each other; their staff is great at prolonged effects."  
  
I'll bet, Hermione thought. "So what are they trying to sell?"  
  
"It's called the 'Exploding File Tray.' It's targeted at executives and other people who would hate to have their clients see them with the effects."  
  
"Which are…"  
  
"Well, when the tray explodes, it makes whoever was in the room with it assume the look of an House-Elf, Flobberworm, or Cornish Pixie at random. It hasn't been approved by the Ministry yet because the Wheezes have been 'testing' it on some of their siblings, who hold Ministry jobs." Hermione smothered a smile, imagining a Flobberworm with horn-rimmed glasses squeaking at Fred and George. "So it has to be sold with a quick antidote, so the person who got tricked wouldn't get too upset at the buyer."  
  
"Ah. I see." Eliza set the suitcase and test tubes on Hermione's workstation. "I'll get right to it."  
  
The younger, yet more experienced woman gave her a grateful look. "Thanks. I've been up to my ears in tests; those Screaming Quills are impossible to manufacture without becoming hoarse before shipments." She headed out the door, calling out over her shoulder, "Mr. Weasley should be here to collect the sample in about two hours."  
  
The test tube Hermione was holding almost shattered, she was squeezing it so hard.  
  
George? Here?  
  
George was the one who was into the actual running of the company and he was often the one sent on business. She wondered how he'd react to her working at a rival joke company. Given, Zonko's was more established, but the Wheezes came up with some of the funniest new products on the market…'oh well,' she thought. They'd be just fine once they got over the initial shock. She removed a vial from the suitcase carefully, as not to disturb the coverings of the other chemicals. They would be ruined if exposed to light.  
  
"Wolfsbane…Powdered owl feathers…Skin of scraggly-looking man…" She stirred feverishly at the cauldron; hardly noticing the minutes tick by.  
  
"Hmm…Plumeria seed extract…and…a pinch of shredded dragonhide. That should do it." She regarded the potion with satisfaction and proceeded to dole it out to their unlucky test subject, who was looking remarkably like Winky the House-elf, albeit dressed in gigantic wizard's robes. She watched as the creature's features melted into human ones and he gave a great sigh of relief.  
  
"Thank God! Where's my pay for this?"  
  
"Front Office." The rather large man trundled out into the hall and Hermione poured the potion into a small glass vial; it would be reproduced in larger quantities at the Wheezes.  
  
She turned to the mirror hanging in the washroom impatiently and critically surveyed her appearance. Before, when she was poor as dirt and still in school, she had to make do with cheap, slightly shabby clothes from the sales rack at lower-quality department stores. Now that she had money, she found more and more excuses to visit the trendier, more expensive designer boutiques scattered throughout Cedar-Hedge Alley, a rather moneyed division connected to Diagon and Knockturn. The soft lavender robes she was wearing now flattered her figure quite nicely, the sleek, smooth lines showing off her slender curves…she was thinner than before. She took off her lab coat and raked her fingers through her hair, letting a few curls escape the chopsticks stuck thorough the loose bun she had made; she had cut it shorter and it was now only shoulder-length. 'Muggles make such ingenious hair accessories', she thought.  
  
"He'll be here any minute now, Hermione." Eliza called as she passed by.  
  
"All right." She set the case on her desk with trembling hands. Would he even recognize her? She hadn't said goodbye to any of her in-laws; just packed up and left in a hurry. Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself when a sharp knock sounded on the other end of the door. "Come in."  
  
The man who entered the room was redheaded, certainly, but not George…and not Fred, either. He stepped into the room confidently, and Hermione felt her heart drop to her feet.  
  
"Ron!"  
  
But was it really? His voice was similarly confident, stronger than she remembered it. "Hermione. This is a surprise; I thought you were in the States."  
  
"I've been back for a few months." She answered, trying as hard as she could to maintain some kind of dignity and not stare at him like a desperate groupie. The unruly hair was gone, replaced by a sleek, short cut. His dress robes were a deep blue, matched with a similarly coloured tie. They accentuated his trim, cut figure and the fine material stamped success all over him. His face was chiselled and clean-shaven, any last traces of boyhood gone. Ron cleared his throat significantly and a blush crept up into her cheeks, aware that he had seen her looking.  
  
"What are you doing in this place?" His tone of voice was disdainful as he glanced around her office.  
  
"I work for Seamus Finnigan." Hermione watched as a muscle in his jaw tightened.  
  
"That's damned awkward." She didn't care what he or the twins thought. They could go screw themselves.  
  
"Extremely awkward," He repeated. He reached up and ran a finger under the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie discreetly. The old Ron hated to have anything around his neck when he was angry or uncomfortable, and he would undo his tie right in the middle of important meetings; he just barely managed to keep it on at their wedding. She remembered untying it for him at the hotel later, coyly tugging at it as he came closer, hands sliding across the newly bared skin of her back, hungrily kissing him after she pulled it off, his lips trailing down to her neck and lower…  
  
"This is for George," She said abruptly, picking up the case containing the vial.  
  
"George?"  
  
"He was supposed to fetch it here…I guess you were supposed to come get it for him."  
  
The corners of his mouth twitched, more in an ironical expression than a smile. "Well, I did come to collect the potion, but George quit the business side of the operation soon after-" the hesitation lasted only a split second, "after you left."  
  
Hermione was temporarily at a loss for words. She was stunned. "So YOU'RE the Mr. Weasley that owns the Wizard Wheezes?"  
  
He shrugged. "Not the owner...the Managing Director." Seeing the confused look on her face, he explained, "It's the person that runs the business part of the deal...I guess I finally resorted to 'family pity,' as you would say." She didn't recoil at his statement; it WAS something that she would have said. She knew now, however, that Ron was there not because his family wanted to get him a job, but because it was something he cared about and was skilled at. After all, running a business was rather like chess…strategic sacrifice and risks were the name of the game. She recounted the various reprimands he got while working at the Ministry. Perhaps he had been right in thinking that Ministry work wasn't for him.  
  
"I…I didn't know you were so successful," she faltered as her caramel-brown eyes met his cool, watchful blue ones. She saw no desire flaring in them, and felt the chill to her very soul.  
  
"I didn't think you'd have known, as we didn't exactly communicate these past five years," he answered in a flat tone.  
  
"I wrote to you once," She retorted almost defiantly. He made a dismissive sound in reply.  
  
"To tell me that you would be staying in America for a few more years."  
  
"You still could have owled me."  
  
"There wasn't anything to say, exactly…You left ME, not the other way around."  
  
By now the old Ron would have been red in the face, yelling his arse off. Yet he was calm, and cool, and unmoved. She wanted to rattle him. "How could I have forgotten? By the way, how IS Fleur?"  
  
"She's fine." The casual tone of his voice angered her still more. Although she was dying of curiosity, she would never consider asking him about his relationship with the woman. It's not like she cared, right? The frantic beating of her heart, and the longing ache in her limbs, as if she felt compelled to run to him, told a different story.  
  
It's all lust, she chided. Ron's as handsome as ever; perhaps even more so, and I'm a normal red-blooded witch. It's nothing to do with love. It'll all disappear once I'm free to marry Seamus.  
  
Satisfied with her logic, she leaned back in her chair. "Now that we're here, I'd like to discuss our divorce. If you don't want to file for it, I will."  
  
He glanced downwards at the carpet, as though it was the most interesting thing in the world and said,  
  
"I'd rather you didn't."  
  
  
  
A/N: Please review (again, hehehe)!!! 


	9. Ron Gets Weird and Seamus Gets Suspiciou...

Disclaimer: All characters except for Robert Honeyduke belong to J.K. Rowling. This chapter also has some Leigh-ish material, so I attribute parts of it to her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione stared up at him, scarcely believing her ears. Was he…trying to…"Why not?"  
  
Ron gave her an incredulous look, as if he couldn't believe what he just heard. "Don't pretend you don't know. Working with Finnigan, I'm sure you're well aware of the reason."  
  
The surge of hope that had welled up in her dried up, replaced with sparking anger. The tension was rapidly thickening in the room. "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about; if you can't be polite about it, I suggest you let the lawyers speak for you."  
  
"Sorry, that was a bit rude." The Ron she had known would have turned beet red and moved away. This Ron stood his ground, looking her straight in the eye as he made his apologies. It was completely alien to her; she was completely prepared for a confrontation and felt a little deflated.  
  
"As you work for Seamus Finnegan, I assumed that you knew what I was talking about," he continued.  
  
"Seeing as I don't, care to enlighten me?"  
  
"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Zonko's are both bidding for ownership of the Honeydukes chain. It's been shaky these past few years, and they've decided to sell out. Since I'm the Managing Director of the Wheezes, the papers would have a field day reporting on my divorce."  
  
"What could they say? As you so graciously pointed out, we've been separated for quite a while."  
  
Ron rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if he was debating on whether or not to elaborate on his response. "It's been five years. Couldn't you wait a bit longer? Or are you in a hurry to get married again?"  
  
She tossed her hair, stating, "Seamus has asked me."  
  
"I see." His lack of emotion was infuriating, and Hermione felt the urge to knock his ego down a few pegs.  
  
"We got reacquainted when I was studying in Boston and really connected with each other. That's why I accepted his offer of a job…I want to make sure I'm not making a mistake the second time around." She knew that with every word she spoke, she was coming closer and closer to accepting Seamus' proposal, but it didn't bother her much. Maybe she needed to actually see Ron to make her final decision.  
  
"I'm glad you've found someone to love," he said. "I wish both of you happiness."  
  
Hermione felt her jaw go slack but quickly checked it. She wanted to slap him, punch or kick him, anything to bring back that fiery, emotional person she had fallen in love with all those years ago. This man wasn't Ron, he couldn't be. Through the whirlwind of feelings coursing through her system, she managed to respond. "Thank you."  
  
"But I still hope you consider doing as I've asked,"  
  
"To help you with your career?" She questioned. "You pushed the entire chain of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes into households all across Britain, Muggle and otherwise, and, as sales have dramatically increased, have grown to be an excellent chairman…Not as great a husband, though," she couldn't resist adding the last bit to show Ron she could joke about their marriage.  
  
"Yes, well…I hope I'll do better the next time around too," he answered. "But for the present, I'd like for us to stay married."  
  
"Don't push it, Ron. I still have to discuss it with Seamus…if he agrees to wait, I'll go along with it."  
  
"I'm sure you haven't lost the art of persuasion." Heat flooded into her cheeks at his comment, intensifying as Ron leaned down towards her. But it was only to get the suitcase containing the potion. She drew back, feeling indignant and incredibly stupid at the same time.  
  
"I'll see you around, Hermione."  
  
As the door shut, Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself. Hermione. It was always 'Mione' from him, and it was strange to hear her entire name spoken by his cool, clear voice. Her thought moved away from that tangent, focusing on their prior conversation.  
  
What was the big deal if they got a divorce? Sure, Witch Weekly would probably run a story on it, but it would most likely be shoved into the back pages, unnoticed by most readers.  
  
Would Fleur mind, or were they still together? And what about his family? She didn't know their opinions on divorce, but she did know their opinion on children: the more, the merrier. And Ron wouldn't have any until he remarried.  
  
Children. When they had first gotten married, she imagined their own kids would be frolicking around with the rest of the Weasleys in the near future…around this time, now that she thought about it. The thought brought on an inexplicable feeling of regret.  
  
"Hermione, you did the right thing. He cheated on you with Fleur Delacour, and after you drove him out, he spent the night with the tart. There's nothing to feel regretful about." This little pep talk did nothing to quell her sentiments, and she was distracted throughout the day.  
  
  
  
"WHAT?!?" Seamus' reaction was just as she suspected, possessive and angry. "Don't tell me you're going to stay married to him." Hermione chose her words carefully, so as not to reveal how mixed up she was feeling towards Ron.  
  
"Obviously getting divorced now would harm him. We aren't enemies, and it's mean-spirited to refuse." Seamus opened his mouth to say something, but just as quickly clamped it shut. "It'll only be around two months."  
  
"If you put it that way, it'd be extremely mean to argue with you anymore." He stared moodily at his dinner. "And I hope you don't forget that one of the reasons you came back here was to spend time with me."  
  
She could feel her lips melting into a frown and quickly caught it. That had never been a spoken intention, but it did seem that way when she looked at it in hindsight. "I'll see you at work every day…although we'd have to be careful about going out in public."  
  
He grinned at her. "That's alright with me…we can meet at your place or mine."  
  
Sirens rang in Hermione's head, but she didn't indicate anything as they left the restaurant and he dropped her off at her home. Once there, Hermione tried to picture herself as Seamus' wife. But her marriage to Ron, brief as it was, kept overshadowing it. They HAD been happy once, and she wasn't sure if she could feel that way with Seamus.  
  
As soon as she got home, she called Ron.  
  
"Ron Weasley's office. Mr. Weasley is not in right now, but if you'd care to leave a message, do so after the tone…"  
  
"Ron, this is Hermione. I spoke with Seamus-"  
  
"Ron Weasley speaking." The phone had been hastily picked up, as if the person on the line was selective of which calls he would receive.  
  
"Erm…alright. Anyway, I spoke with Seamus and he's agreed to wait, so I'll go along with it." A short, surprised silence followed.  
  
"Thank you. I wasn't sure if you'd agree or not." His voice was again very calm and collected.  
  
"No problem." Despite her efforts, Hermione felt a little shaken up as she rang off afterwards. She hadn't told Ron that her engagement wasn't certain, at least not yet. "Certainly it's no concern of his whether I am or not."  
  
The next day at work, Hermione shut herself up in her office, intent on being alone with her work and her thoughts for the entire day. "This is all too much," she mused as she scribbled down the possible side effects of asphodel when added to the horn of a Manticore. She repeated the words to herself as they flew from the quill to her parchment. "It is best to avoid combining these two ingredients unless used in minute amounts; any more than two pinches each could prove to be extremely harmful. Our first test subject fainted after being administered the preliminary dosage. The concoction had the intended effect, but also made the subject…"  
  
A sharp rapping on the door startled her, making her quill drop a gigantic navy-blue inkblot on her paper.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley?" Another blot. No one had called her 'Mrs. Weasley' in years…  
  
"Come in." She cleared the splotches with a handy Ink-Sucker Charm as someone stepped into the office, helping himself to the chair in front of her desk.  
  
"I'm Paul Eastwood, Mrs. Weasley." His firm handshake fit his physical appearance. His hands were broad and rough. His dress robes weren't ostentatious, but well cared for, a pinstriped black. What little hair he had left was a deep brown peppered with a charcoal grey colour; it stood up straight due to its extremely short cut. "Mr. Weasley's publicist."  
  
"Publicist?" Hermione was confused. Why would he send a publicist? "Has Ron sent you here?"  
  
"Oh, no." His face creased into a rueful expression. "He'd have my skin if he did." Seeing Hermione about to retort, he rushed into speech. "Anyway, I've only come here for one reason."  
  
"And that is…"  
  
"I want you to stop working for Seamus Finnigan."  
  
"Why?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.  
  
"Come on, Mrs. Weasley, you know the answer as well as I do. Since Mr. Finnigan and your husband will both be fighting for the ownership of Honeydukes Enterprises, the wizarding press would hound you off the ends of the earth if they found out you were working here."  
  
"Oh, for Heaven's sakes! What would they possibly have to say?"  
  
"That you took this job to side with Ron's opponent."  
  
She scoffed. "That's nutters."  
  
"I know that, Ron knows that, and so do you…but think of how it looks to the average witch or wizard." Hermione glared at the shiny bald spot on the top of his head. "That's why I need you to stop working for Mr. Finnigan. When we gain control of Honeydukes…"  
  
"Mr. Finnigan has as good of a chance as Ron does, Mr. Eastwood."  
  
"Let's not argue over who's going to win this. Look, if you're really not Ron's enemy-"  
  
"If I was, I wouldn't be doing this in the first place!" She cried in exasperation.  
  
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry, that was rude. But stop working here."  
  
"I don't know…Mr. Finnigan may be upset by that." Mr. Eastwood's eyebrows shot up in sardonic surprise.  
  
"Oh, I'm surprised that Mr. Finnigan hasn't asked you to leave himself."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips. "Why…why do I get the feeling that there's more going on behind this than I know about? Is there something you're not telling me?"  
  
Mr. Eastwood stood abruptly. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but I shouldn't be telling you this if Mr. Finnigan hasn't. You should ask him first. You will do that, won't you?" He headed to the door.  
  
"You're expecting quite a lot, Mr. Eastwood."  
  
"Au contraire, Mrs. Weasley…I don't think I'm expecting much at all. I respect your husband very much. He's a good businessman and honest at the same time…it's a rarity, and he deserves to win."  
  
Hermione stood too, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going to reply to that…my loyalty stands with Mr. Finnigan."  
  
He nodded, conceding. "Well…I'll be seeing you, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
As the door clicked shut behind him Hermione's mind exploded with questions. There was something weird about this thing with Honeydukes, and she was determined to find out what it was.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Here's a little teaser quote from the next chapter: "How about the pitter-patter of little feet?" Hmm… 


	10. Paul's Proposition

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! BTW, this chapter has hints of H/G, so if you don't like just gloss over it; I don't think it's very important to the plot.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters except for Robert Honeyduke and Paul Eastwood belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
Even before she spoke with Seamus, Hermione knew that she would stop working for him. It wasn't just because of Paul Eastwood's visit or because of the tabloids, she also didn't want Seamus to read so much into their relationship. She just wasn't sure of where they were heading. He didn't push the marriage question, and for that she was glad.  
  
After going to a dinner party with some of Seamus' friends (mostly young businesspeople Hermione didn't know,) she decided to broach the subject of the job to him.  
  
"Want to come in for a nightcap?"  
  
"Yeah, thanks." He followed her into the apartment, stretching out on one of the sofas and watching her prepare his drink. After pouring him a whiskey, Hermione tentatively struck up a conversation.  
  
"What'd you think of the party?"  
  
He yawned slightly, sloshing his drink around. "It was all right, although I wish I could have introduced you as my fiancé. It was on the tip of my tongue at the meeting in Hogsmeade, when all the questions about girlfriends and wives went around."  
  
This was her chance. "What happened at the meeting? I don't think you told me." She curled up on one of the huge leather armchairs across from him.  
  
"You could have asked Ron."  
  
Hermione could feel her temperature rise slightly. "Oh, could I? I suppose I should just stop working for you altogether; that way there'll be no Weasleys on the premises."  
  
"That's not what I meant! It's just that your estranged husband comes out to be one of my biggest rivals for a company that could very well double the size of mine. It's (New sentence again) just a question of who will go the farthest to gain Honeydukes' favour."  
  
"'Favour'? Are you talking about bribes?"  
  
"Well, in a way. Robert Honeyduke is the current owner of the company…It was passed down through generations, see. Anyway, Honeyduke's really traditional, a devout believer in pro-life and the sanctity of marriage. He wants someone who shares his views. I'll bet Ron's already told him how happily married he is. I'd have set Honeyduke right if I had known."  
  
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath.  
  
"Sorry. I wouldn't have, really."  
  
She regarded him for a moment before saying, "Seamus, you know that I'm still undecided on this marriage question?"  
  
"I've decided enough for us, Hermione. I want you as my wife. You know that, don't you?" She let him wrap his arms around her, grateful for the extra warmth but not much else. "I'd marry you no matter what."  
  
"Not while Honeydukes is selling out."  
  
"I don't think that can be helped, love." She frowned at the 'love,' but luckily Seamus wasn't looking into her face at the time.  
  
"I didn't say it could be. But I think…I think we should stop seeing each other for now."  
  
"No! Look, we can still see each other. It'll just be more discreet, and you won't have to be working in the offices. Plus you'll have time to decide if you'll have me." She smiled at him, wanting to be in love with him with all her heart, but she still wasn't sure. He kissed her briefly before pulling away, checking his watch. "I've got to go."  
  
********  
  
The next day Hermione began cleaning out her office at Zonko's. Her team bought accepted her story of additional studying and didn't dispute her appointment of Dr. Berklin as the new head, getting to work at her insistence. She began Summoning her belongings into a bottomless bag, leaving the files for Berklin, who would be occupying the space. Hermione Apparated back to her home, where she set down her things.  
  
Should she go and see Paul Eastwood, tell him that she left her job with Zonko's? Frowning, Hermione decided that it was a good idea, but she had no idea where to contact him. She didn't want to go through Ron, but then it dawned on her.  
  
"Harry and Ginny!" She hurriedly grabbed her purse and Flooed there. She had Apparated enough for the day. As soon as she got there, a whirl of Titian-coloured hair enveloped her in a warm hug. It was none other than her sister-in-law, Ginny.  
  
"Hermione! It's so good to see you." She beamed at her friend, beckoning her to the couch. "You've only been to see us once since you got here, and that was only for a few minutes."  
  
"I thought we were your best friends," A mock-pouting voice interrupted them. Hermione turned and faced an older, more level-headed Harry Potter.  
  
He had certainly grown. When she had left, Harry looked largely the same from when they were at Hogwarts; messy, longish black hair with those black round glasses, always swathed in too-big clothes, his eyes and face barely managing to hide an inscrutable sadness. This Harry was drastically different. No gigantic glasses; they were now thin golden frames, slightly oval. His hair was cropped short, (since Voldemort had been defeated his scar had faded to an almost imperceptible state) yet still unmanageable and sticking out at all directions. His clothes, well-fitting; jeans and sweaters gave him the look of a suburban Muggle instead of The Boy…erm, Man Who Lived. The largest change, however, was in his face. His eyes shone with happiness and his expression was almost always cheerful. He looked more like his father than ever. Hermione could see the photograph Harry had shown him in her head, and he looked just like it.  
  
"Of course you are, I just had a report on cauldron bottoms I've been working on for the past month and I just COULDN'T tear myself away." She adjusted invisible horn-rimmed spectacles and looked down on the both of them severely. "Ten points from Gryffindor as well, for being disrespectful to the Head Boy."  
  
"You sound just like Percy, Herm, honestly." Ginny giggled. "Harry, where's Jamie?"  
  
"In his room…wait, scratch ignore that. He's right behind me. Come on out, it's Aunt Hermione." At this a 3-year-old boy stepped out from behind his father. He toddled towards Hermione as fast as his legs could go.  
  
"Hi Aunt Hermione! Lookit my boomsthick." He held out a toy Firebolt 16 for her to examine.  
  
"Wow, that's really something really impressive." She ruffled his auburn hair affectionately.  
  
"Uncle Ron says I fly good." Her smile faltered a bit at the mention of Ron, but she continued talking to the child ungrudgingly. He smiled at her and Harry's green eyes shone at her from a very Ginny-ish face, complete with freckles. "Want to play Quidditch with me and my dad later? You can be on my mum's theam."  
  
"I'm not very good..."  
  
"Neither is mum." Harry burst out laughing.  
  
"I hate to say it, Gin, but…Jamie's right!" he managed between laughs. Ginny glared at him and mouthed some words, which looked suspiciously like 'couch tonight.' At this Harry stopped abruptly.  
  
"I don't think that's a very good idea, Jamie. I'm sure your Aunt Hermione has work to do."  
  
The boy's face fell a bit, but he perked up again as his mother grabbed his hand. "Come on, I'll play Exploding Snap with you for a bit." Their footsteps got less and less noisy, and Hermione guessed they had gone to the little boy's room.  
  
Harry turned his attention back to his friend. "So what's up? I know you; you wouldn't be here in the middle of the day for no reason."  
  
She shrugged. "I just quit my job at Zonko's."  
  
He stared. "What? Why?"  
  
She was loath to reveal the extent of the increasingly more complicated situation to him, but gave him a brief, edited version of the events that had transpired. "So that's why I came; I thought you might have his phone number or something."  
  
"I don't see why you'd think that but…one of the twins left his address book here the other day. If you don't mind snooping a bit, I suppose you can look in there."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
He laughed at her and disappeared into an adjacent room, coming back a second later with the book. "Enjoy."  
  
It was hard to read the handwriting and there was a strange odour emanating from some of the pages, but eventually Hermione managed to find the E's. She felt a bit squeamish about looking through other people's things, but the fact that the twins did not share the same scruples made her feel better. "Eastlake...Eastwood. There it is." She copied the number down, said her goodbyes to Harry, Jamie and Ginny, and Apparated down to her local pub, which had several payphones in the corner.  
  
The phone rang twice. "Paul Eastwood."  
  
"Mr. Eastwood? This is Hermione Granger."  
  
The line was muffled, but she could still hear the sounds of a chair scraping back and a door being shut. It was picked up again a second later. "Call me Paul. How did you get this number?"  
  
"The twins."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No." She heard a stifled guffaw.  
  
"I didn't think so. Would you mind stopping by my office?"  
  
"May I ask why?" She was wary of going to the Headquarters of the Wheezes, especially right after leaving the Headquarters of Zonko's.  
  
"There are some things we have to discuss about this agreement."  
  
She frowned, but agreed. "Yes, I suppose we do. I'll Floo over right away."  
  
********  
  
"Mrs. Weasley-"  
  
"Ms. Granger, please."  
  
Paul's face did not hide his discomfiture. "From now on, the media, other executives, and employees of this company will be calling you by your married name ... I suggest you get used to it."  
  
"Then call me Hermione."  
  
"All right. Hermione it is." He gave her an appraising look.  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
"I have a favour to ask of you." His fingers drummed the tabletop nervously. "I'd like you to move in with Ron."  
  
"I thought you were insane before, but now I'm completely convinced." She shook her head. "There is no way I would ever do that. I'm sure Ron would agree with me."  
  
"Hermione, if you two supposedly got back together after all this time, why would you be living in separate homes? That makes absolutely no sense. And I'd bet a great Galleon that Ron would feel the same."  
  
"Then you'd better hand over the money, Eastwood." Ron's face was impassive. "No bloody way is that happening."  
  
Paul shook his head. "This charade you two are willing to play is not going to come through without it." His eyes gleamed for a second. "Imagine what great press we'd get if it got out that the prestigious Hermione Granger and the famous Ron Weasley got back together, your love for each other winning out over any logic or reason. It'd be fantastic, Honeyduke would definitely notice."  
  
"The answer's still no, Paul." His reply was so dismissive and impatient that Hermione longed to give him a good kick in the arse. Was he so unattracted to her that even a temporary reunion was repulsive? That She was definitely cut to the quick and she turned hastily, ready to leave. Then it struck her.  
  
"I'm game." If this was all about spite, and power plays, and dishonesty, then she could play with the rest of them.  
  
"WHAT?" Two voices echoed one another perfectly, but the faces were different. Ron's, shock and disbelief, Paul's happy and relieved.  
  
"I say, Ron, if she's willing to do it, you should be too. She's trying to save your hide here."  
  
Ron watched her with slightly narrowed eyes, making her swallow convulsively. The blue fire blazing in them made her turn to stare in the other direction, focusing instead on a Monet reproduction hanging from the wall. "I don't know. I know my wife much better than you do Eastwood; this sudden aiming to please is rather unnerving."  
  
She kept her jaw clamped firmly shut; it was in danger of dropping open. "This isn't about revenge, Ron. It's about your business record. You're at the pinnacle of success and I'm glad to see you've finally got there."  
  
"I didn't know success was such a turn-on for you."  
  
"That's what attracted me to Seamus," she replied airily, and was ecstatic to see his mouth tighten.  
  
"That's what this is all for, isn't it? So you can help out Finnigan."  
  
"I just want to even the playing field."  
  
"Good, I like a fair fight."  
  
Paul could sense the storm clouds subsiding and hastily interrupted. "So you're both going to do it?"  
  
Hermione nodded her assent.  
  
"Fine," Ron replied. "I'll do it." He turned a sardonic eye towards his Public Relations head. "Are there any more requests before this is over?"  
  
"Hmm..." Paul smirked. "How about the pitter-patter of little feet?"  
  
"No, no, and no," she replied.  
  
"No more jokes, Eastwood...this is hard enough as it is."  
  
Was Ron's sense of humour completely demolished by his job? Or did he just recoil at any notion of her mothering his children? She felt that strange prick of sadness again, but held it firmly in check. "So what time should I Apparate there?"  
  
"I'll send someone over to your place, so they can pick up your things first," he replied confidently. A moment's pause. "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
She watched him leave, feeling something like regret before she snapped to her senses. The two of them were back together, but under such horrible circumstances...  
  
'What could possibly come out of it?'  
  
  
  
A/N: Please review!! 


	11. Lunch, Anyone?

A/N: This chapter's for Molly, who got my ass in-check by reviewing all my stories and asking me to update! Yeah!  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: All characters except for Robert Honeyduke and Paul belong to JK Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
The ringing of a doorbell echoed in Hermione's ears and she rolled over in bed, groaning. She ran her hands through her tousled curls and grabbed a robe, tying it around herself as she padded through the hallway. "I'm coming, I'm coming." She fumbled for the lock, still rubbing at her eyes.  
  
"Morning." Ron stood in the doorway, clad in a blue sweater and jeans. He eyed her attire with a critical eye, but didn't say anything.  
  
She held the door open for him, a little uncomfortable under his gaze. "I thought you were sending a driver to pick me up."  
  
"I thought it'd look better if I picked you up myself…It's what I'd do if this reconciliation was real." He stuffed his hands into the back of his pockets. "Are you packed, or will I have to wait?"  
  
She frowned, but made no comment. "I'm packed, but would you mind waiting for me to change?"  
  
He shrugged. "Go ahead. I'll stay here."  
  
"I wasn't asking you to join me," she shot back, heading down the hall.  
  
Ron stuffed his hands into his back pockets, looking around. A quick tour of her home revealed a nicely furnished kitchen, a small library/study and a guest room. As he came back to the living room, He could see an owl hovering in the window and went to retrieve it. It hooted, friendly-like at him. "Hey there, little guy."  
  
"I don't remember asking you to get my mail for me while I was gone." She grabbed the handle of her roll-along suitcase, drawing even with him.  
  
"He probably would've flown away."  
  
Hermione sighed inaudibly and untied the letter attached to the owl's minute leg. He was small, although bigger than their old owl, Pigwidgeon. She stroked his feathers absentmindedly as she read.  
  
  
  
Hermione,  
  
Why didn't you tell me you were going to live with Weasley? His PR man called me last night. Not very nice, love. Anyway, take this owl; that way you won't have an excuse not to send me letters every day. I haven't named him; that's up to you. He's from Ireland, so expect him to have a pretty bad temper. He also likes liquors, so make sure to cap them when he's around. Take care. Owl me as soon as you get to the hellhole.  
  
Seamus  
  
  
  
She felt a pang of guilt as she read. She hadn't thought of him in the least...it was probably due to the whirlwind of packing she had to do yesterday, she reasoned. That's all. "I get to keep him..." Instead of replying with a hoot, it flew to Ron, landing on his arm.  
  
"I think he likes me." To her aggrievance, it hooted its agreement. "What's his name?"  
  
"He doesn't have one yet; Seamus said that it was up to me." Hermione paused. Ron didn't reply, only smoothed the owl's feathers down. "I like Aidan. That's the name of the Irish Seeker, isn't it?" She grabbed a tea strainer from a kitchen cupboard, handily transfiguring it into an owl cage.  
  
Sticking his arm into it, he let the small creature hop in before securely shutting the door. He then brushed some stray feathers off his sleeve and sent her a condesending look. "Aidan Lynch retired almost a decade ago. All those crashes at the World Cup didn't wear off; he's almost as loony as Ludo Bagman now."  
  
"I think it's a nice name." She turned to the owl. "Isn't that right, Aidan?" The little thing gave her a reproachful look.  
  
"I don't think he likes that name much," commented Ron.  
  
"I didn't ask for your opinion."  
  
"I'm giving it anyway." He cocked his head to the side in a very Harry-like way before announcing, "I have it; he looks like a Viktor to me."  
  
Hermione scowled as the owl flew excitedly around his cage, obviously delighted at the suggestion. "That's not very funny."  
  
He smirked. "I didn't say it was." Turning to the owl, he said, "Come off it, Viktor. Shut up so we can go." The owl obliged, fluttering to the very edge of his perch so as to be able to watch Ron pick up Hermione's suitcases.  
  
"I can carry everything myself!"  
  
"I didn't say you couldn't," he replied coolly. "I just thought you'd like to carry Vicky's cage."  
  
"Don't call him Vicky." The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.  
  
Ron smirked, setting the cases in the fireplace. "Right." He dug into a pocket of his jeans, fishing out a small bag of Floo Powder. "I'll go first. Incendio!" He tossed the stuff into the newly-risen fire and called, "My house!" With a loud pop, he dissapeared.  
  
Picking up Viktor's cage, Hermione followed suit, wondering why in the world she had agreed to such a faulty scheme.  
  
********  
  
"Your room is upstairs to the left," he directed, watching her stumble over the fireplace with birdcage in tow.  
  
She noticed her suitcases were being floated up by a House-Elf, who gave her a curious but polite smile. "Alright."  
  
"You don't mind settling in alone, do you? I have a lot of papers to go over."  
  
She nodded. "That'll be fine."  
  
"I'll see you later then, love." The term of endearment was obviously a front for the elf, who had been looking from one to the other curiously. Ron gave Hermione a brief, tight smile before disappearing into what she presumed was his office.  
  
Hermione followed her (she thought it might be female) upstairs. "Hello. I'm Hermione."  
  
"Yes, you is Mr. Wheezy's wife. Mr Wheezy says you is coming back from America." Her big round eyes blinked at her, and she straightened what looked to be a Weasley jumper. "Mr Wheezy says you come back to help him."  
  
"Yes, that's right." Hermione frowned as she watched the creature bustle about the room. "Er…how does Ron treat you?"  
  
The elf's ears perked up. "Oh, Mr. Wheezy is a good master. He doesn't like to be called Master. He pays Blinken lots, and Blinken gets days off to visit Blinken's friends anytime." She fluffed a pillow. "Mr. Wheezy is good master, is better than most."  
  
Hermione was surprised at her response. "That's wonderful."  
  
The elf beamed, bowing. "Goodbye, Mrs. Wheezy. Blinken will see you tommorow."  
  
Bidding her goodbye, she watched her leave and collapsed onto the bed. She glanced at her surroundings, taken aback by the opulence. Everything matched so well, she doubted Ron had decorated it himself.  
  
'Speaking of Ron…' she thought. How was she going to cope with being a wife again? Would she be able to keep appearances up well enough to fool the press and businessmen? How much time would she actually spend with him? She sighed deeply before rolling over onto her stomach. 'It won't be so bad,' she reassured herself. 'Just think of it as a dress rehearsal for when you marry Seamus.' She propped her head up on her hands, trying to imagine herself as Seamus' wife or the mother of his children, but somehow all she could see was her first wedding and the almost delirious happiness she had felt. Yawning a bit, she checked her watch. There were a few hours left until she was to lunch with Ron at the Three Broomsticks; it had been Paul's idea to get them seen by the right people.  
  
"Maybe I should rest a bit..." she muttered, curling up and resting her head on her arms. She was asleep almost immediately.  
  
  
  
Hermione woke up with a start. The sun was already high in the sky, and she was still in the rumpled clothes she had hastily thrown on that morning. Stretching, she slid out of bed and grabbed her wand. She performed a simple Cleaning charm on herself (there wasn't time to take a long bath, like she wanted to) and swung open the closet door, knowing Blinken had probably hung up her clothing for her. She selected some regular robes, not too traditional but nice enough for where they were going. After a bit of scrutiny she decided to tie up her hair instead of leaving it down; it was pulled into a soft bun. Not too much makeup; it was never really her thing. She glanced in the mirror after everything and headed down the stairs quickly.  
  
Ron was already in the sitting room adjacent to the front door. He was checking his watch, frowning, and didn't notice her arrival until she cleared her throat softly.  
  
"I thought you were still asleep."  
  
She gave him a small smile, head tilted up to look at him. "I've been awake for a while. Are we leaving soon?"  
  
"Yeah, hold on." He strapped on a watch that was laying on the table and straightened up again.  
  
Hermione was unsure of how to broach what had been on her mind to him. "Ron, I was wondering…what reason will you give for our reconciliation?"  
  
His brow furrowed. "When you came back we both realized we were still in love with each other. Basically what Eastwood said."  
  
"What about when we split?"  
  
"Same as when we first separated; our careers demanded too much of us and we had to separate to achieve our goals." He turned abruptly. "Soon we'll have to go to Ottery St. Catchpole and the Burrow."  
  
She gulped in spite of herself. "Do we have to?"  
  
"Of course," he replied. "Fred and George come up with all the ideas there, and it'd be good for us to be seen in my hometown."  
  
"I see." She bit her lip, a little nervous. "I don't want to lie to your family, though-"  
  
"I have no plans of doing so. I've already told them."  
  
She nodded slowly, still doubtful of what her reception would be when she got to the Weasleys'. "I think we should get going."  
  
"I suppose you're right." They both disapparated quickly.  
  
  
  
Glancing around, Hermione saw that Hogsmeade hadn't changed at all. She could see the faint outline of Hogwarts in the distance, and the small village shops were still in operation. As they walked, she knew people were glancing curiously at them, and occaisionally the click of a camera could be heard.  
  
"Almost there," Ron muttered. "We should be able to slip in without anyone noticing." How very wrong he was.  
  
As they rounded the corner, they were assaulted by a plethora of news people, photographers, and other hangers-on; the babble of sound intensified as people realized they were there. Flashes were going off, temporarily disorienting Hermione. She blinked in an effort to get the bright spots of light to go away, and felt Ron's arm go around her, supporting her by the waste. Grateful though she was, she still felt the urge to throw it off and hurry into the establishment.  
  
Calls of "Ron! Turn this way!" and "Hermione, over here!" came at them from every direction, and they were forced to wait for a good few minutes, small smiles plastered on their faces. One of the men yelled, "How about a kiss for the front page?"  
  
Her mind panicked, and she searched for something witty to say. If Ron were to kiss her now, while she was still confused about her feelings for him, well... "I'm sorry, I don't kiss men I don't know." This earned a roar of laughter, and she felt him give her an appreciative squeeze.  
  
"What made you two decide to get back together?"  
  
Ron winked at her, then responded. "Classic, really. When Hermione came back from the States we both realized that we were still madly in love. Heart over mind, I suppose." A nostalgic sigh swept through the older females in the crowd, while the males snickered but scribbled quotes down anyway.  
  
"Are you going to woo her all over again?" yelled another.  
  
"Oh, we'll court each other," Hermione said. "I am a modern woman, you know."  
  
After this, they were able to weave their way through into the pub. The waitress, who looked a lot like Madam Rosemerta, waved to Ron and gestured to a booth towards the back. "I saved your usual spot."  
  
"Thanks, Mademoiselle." They seated themselves and he explained. "Rosemerta's niece; she inherited the place."  
  
"You two did great." A different voice intruded upon them and Paul was suddenly standing in front of them. "Budge up, you." He slid in next to Ron. "You acted like a pro, Hermione. The press loved you."  
  
"I'd rather leave it up to the real professionals next time," she teased. "You know, if you really wanted I could've brewed up some Polyjuice Potion. You could've answered however you wanted." They both grinned. She found herself liking this man, mainly because he was the first person to say more than a few sentences to her the whole day.  
  
Ron was not amused. "I wouldn't be able to stand gripping Eastwood here by the waist and acting like the devoted husband. If this is going to work, you two need to straighten up."  
  
Paul gave her a commiserating look, nodded at his boss and melted back into the crowd.  
  
Hermione gave her husband a slight smile. "Sorry; I suppose you forgot how I can get sometimes."  
  
"No, I haven't." A humourous edge laced his voice. "I'll get us something to eat." A moment later, he returned with fish and chips, as well as some butterbeer. They ate in silence for a while, before Hermione decided to break the ice.  
  
"So what's it like to be a Managing Director? Surely it's not as fun as inventing the actual products."  
  
"Oh, I invent things, just not products. I just handle the business stuff, which isn't too bad. I get free samples of everything though." He gestured to her drink. "You should watch out for that."  
  
"Urgh..." She stopped in mid-drink.  
  
"I was only joking, Hermione." They smiled at each other, warming up a bit.  
  
"Ron..."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Does this bother you? You know, being 'together' and everything? It's a complete violation of business ethics, in my opinion."  
  
"Damn business ethics." He said bluntly. "That's not what bothers me. It brings up memories of things I'd like not to remember."  
  
This admission cut to the quick, but she was swift in her denial. "It's the same for me."  
  
"Nice to see we're on the same page." He took a quick swig of butterbeer before changing the subject. "Have you spoken to Finnigan yet? I mean, as you're his fiance and all."  
  
Hermione frowned at the question. "I honestly don't think that's any of your business."  
  
"Sorry, but I think he'd have to call or owl directly to my home if he wanted to speak to you most of the time; I may be wrong, but I do have a right to know who's dialling my number."  
  
She relented. "I suppose you're right. No, I haven't spoken to him recently. I was planning to owl him tonight, actually."  
  
"I see. We should be going home soon."  
  
The 'going home' was almost foreign to her. It was strange to be (sort of) living with Ron again, and to be coming and going with him in tow was almost alien. It was also strangely completing, to have slightly normal conversations with the man again...not that that meant anything. She was just lonely, that's all. "Yes, we should."  
  
"I have to go in to work tommorow," he added, throwing down his money.  
  
Glancing down at the coins, she saw that he'd paid the entire thing. "I can- "  
  
"Pay yourself?"  
  
She scooped up half, handing them back. "I like to equalize things."  
  
"So I've heard." His mouth was pulled into a lopsided smile, but it wasn't the cheerful expression she remembered, only a turning up at the corners really. "Come on." He waved to Madam Rosemerta's niece and they left, disapparating quickly.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I know it was a weird place to end, but I ran out of ideas. Please review! 


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